


Rivers Of Light

by lisadoodlebum



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comfort, Crowley Has Nightmares (Good Omens), Cuddling, Declarations Of Love, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Lots of Cuddling, M/M, Mutual Pining, ace friendly, all the cuddling, rated T for mild swearing, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisadoodlebum/pseuds/lisadoodlebum
Summary: A fic in which two idiots love each other quite a bit and it sorts itself out over wine and cuddles, as it should.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Rivers Of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoy reading this, it’s both my first fanfiction and, while I’ve dabbled in writing before, my first time uploading any of my works. That being said, this story is dedicated to a good friend of mine whom, without their assistance and encouragement, (And indulging the half-awake ramblings at three in the morning that sparked this idea) I wouldn’t have done so in the first place. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated as I have no idea what I’m doing. Right, onto the story!

\--+--

It was late evening, the sun hung low, barely a sliver in the distance, it’s seemingly desperate grasp for more time waning before inevitably fizzling away. The warm, amber sea that washed over the rooftops of London replaced by a biting blue chill of night. Stars blinking dutifully into existence.

“I really must thank you, I’m certain I wouldn’t dare venture to these new restaurants without your encouragement.”

“Happy to help, Angel.”

“Oh, but it was all fantastic!” The main course had been especially delectable, but he expected nothing less, of course. “The food, the wine…” 

“The company.” Crowley added, half-jokingly, but Aziraphale practically glowed at this.

“The company, obviously.”

It really had been lovely, perfectly platonic of course, an arm-linked walk through the park, (“Terribly slippery pathways this time of year, hm?”) a table for two at the sort of dimly lit restaurant where you have to lean over the table to speak to each other, and roadworks (Thanks to some intervention, be it infernal or otherwise) that meant they had to take the long, scenic route back. Just friendly things that friends do… as friends.

“Speaking of wine, would you care to join me for a nightcap? I couldn’t possibly let you go without one.”

“If you insist.” he replied, with a sly smirk that promised trouble.

\---

And so, they adjourned into the cosy nook of the backroom after their delightful evening of wining and dining, now doing more of the former. Halfway through bottle number four, (Which would assuredly be joining the ranks of its fallen brethren soon) as per usual rambling on about everything and nothing.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale, was roused from his concentration, he’d been quietly contemplating the lanky, serpentine mass that had taken residence on his sofa opposite him. Soft, distant gaze becoming sharp, (Had he been staring? No, no of course not…) attempting to recall what they had been discussing.  
Crowley discarded his sunglasses, “What about your lo- er, y’know, up there?”

“You’ll have to elaborate Crowley, I’m not omn- omniscie- o- all knowing.”

“Well, I’ve got the eyes, and this-” He gestures vaguely to the snake-shaped mark on their temple. “- ‘Reminders of my demonic origins.’ Not that I’d forget.” A hint of venom in the inflection, “S’there an Upstairs equivalent?”

Aziraphale shuffled awkwardly in the overstuffed wing-backed chair, taking a moment to clear his throat, “Ahem, I suppose so, you see, all celestial beings have a bit of gold on them in some capacity."1

Piercing eyes looked at him up and down, “What abou-”

“You have beautiful eyes Crowley, infernal or no.” It was said with all sincerity, but he couldn’t help barking a laugh at the glare this earned him, squinting back in a mocking impression, “Even when you look at me like that, dear.”

“Don’t change the subject, what about you then, eh? … M’sure I would’ve noticed it after all these years.” 

The angel responded by melting further into his armchair, “Er, keeping up appearances. You can’t expect me to blend in with humanity with any… ethereal extravagancies showing.” 

“And Eden?” He asked, leaning forward from his perched position as though about to strike.

“What about Eden?”

“Never saw it in Eden either, wouldn’t have needed to hide it there.”

Silence took hold. A veritable vacuum that seemed to absorb every ounce of warmth from the room. An inescapable sense of awkwardness looming in the air. He continued nursing pitiful droplets in leu of words. Rolling what he could have sworn had been a full glass of wine until a few seconds ago between his fingers. “Ah, well-”

“Could you show me?”

“Pardon?!” Sharper than he intended. A simple question perhaps, but no easier for him to process.

“I mean, s’not important. If you don’t want to.”

“No, no. I didn’t say that, I simply- It’s- I…” He faltered, quieting to no more than a murmur, his throat closing shut unable to continue.

Crowley mutters a curse under his breath. ‘Always asking too many questions.’ “Shit, sorry Angel. I understand if you don’t trust me enough.”

“No!” Voice returning, bellowing the word, unleashing the full echoing bravado of a former principality. He rises out of his seat, legs wobbling slightly underneath him, “No, that’s not it at all.” Somewhat taken aback by his own reaction he wrings his hands in worry, considering something.  
Then, closing the distance between them, a journey of a few careful steps that seemed to go on for miles, he takes a seat next to him and guiding the demon’s hands into his own. Slit pupils contract, dowsed in honeyed irises as their eyes lock, the angel’s own like tempered steel, unwavering and unafraid.

“I trust you with my life Crowley.”

And he had, true the deviant had saved his life- body at least- on several occasions throughout their history together, and there’s nothing quite like stopping Armageddon, or having a hand in it at least, to strengthen a bond.  
A string of strained syllables is all that follows, most prominently a noise that can only be transcribed as, “Ngk.” With the realisation that Aziraphale did trust him. Despite everything that came between them. No more sides, they were here now… together and, rather foolishly perhaps, they trusted each other.

“It’s just a delicate subject for me I’m afraid, it’s… not the most pleasant to look at.”

“Oh, I doubt that Angel, you’re- well, an angel. Flawless.”

“Now don’t start that nonsense again.”

“Only ‘cause you know I’ll win.”

“If that’s what you wish to think, so be it.”

“Prove me wrong then.”

“Crowley, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to tempt me into it.”

“S’it working?”

‘Always.’

“Very well then, but you mustn’t… Oh honestly, don’t look too pleased with yourself, it’s only the wine hitting me.”

\--+--

“Close your eyes.”

“Azirap-“

“Please.” Expression on the precipice of pleading.

Lids, heavy from drink, concede and shroud his vision. He could feel a shifting weight next to him and heard the rustling of fabric. There was a *snap* the unmistakable short burst of sharp energy of a miracle filled the air, replacing the warm glow of the room with the cool natural light of the outside.  
A single bead of sweat now navigating the lines and points of his face, Crowley felt his superfluous heartbeat quicken with anticipation, ‘Shut it you.’ and then it wasn’t. The noise stops, concluding with a small sigh, a quiet crescendo. 

“Go on then.” Aziraphale huffed indignantly.

Eyes fly open quickly, too quickly, stinging from what light now remained.

There sat Aziraphale, prim and proper, now encompassed by darkness, his shirt half-off around his elbows, prepared to commence a retreat at any moment, pale skin acting as a beacon in the gloom. Waistcoat set aside neatly. Eyes clasped firmly shut, bearing a pained expression as though the very thought of being seen like this, so open and vulnerable, were a death sentence. Shafts of moonlight and the subdued shine of streetlamps peeked through cracks in the curtains behind him casting an appropriately ethereal aura around the angel, silhouetting the rolling valley edges of his figure and illuminating snowy blonde curls, shining in the darkness like a full moon, like a halo.2

Unable to comprehend this rare moment, this show of trust, this… gift. His flushed visage burned worse than any hellfire, Crowley hasn’t seen so much of him since Rome at least,3 always clad behind layer upon layer, each acting as armour… in certain periods quite literally.

He can’t help but take the opportunity to drink in the sight, watching in awe of the view before him. Vision wandering from place to place as though charting a map, no, like surveying the stars, committing every wonderful minute detail to memory, from the fine, fair hairs that blanket his forearms and chest to the- 

Oh.

Beautiful, shining, golden rivers of light coursing around his vessel, delineating the places wherever one would find stretch marks, reflecting the glimmering moonlight.

\---

Aziraphale dared to look over now, making a dread-filled search of Crowley’s expression for… something, an ounce of disgust? A molecule of rejection? It was only to be expected, or so he had thought, yet there was none to be found. There was only that look, the one that the demon tried so ardently to keep hidden away behind shadowed lenses, the one that made him wonder what Crowley saw in him with those glorious serpentine eyes, the one that gave him foolish hope.

“I was convinced it was a punishment at first you know, for failing my duties at the gate, or some sort of cruel joke perhaps, and they’ve only gotten worse with my… over-indulgence.” It was hardly a secret that he liked food, well actually that’s an insulting understatement. He adored it, always taking pleasure in earthly delights, revelling in every sensation and in all his years he had only found one more satisfying experience, little pleased him more than spending time with Crowley. (If these just so happened to overlap then all the better.)

He’d always been fond of him, of course. With the addition of time these feelings had only grown. They’d seen it all, together since the start and very nearly saw it through to the end. No matter the circumstance or occurrence they would always find their way back to each other’s sides once again.  
But it had been that one night in 1941 that had shown him the true extent of his feelings, that night where a demon had hopped into harm’s way, not only saving him from discorporation, (And a frankly dreadful amount of paperwork.) but producing an unharmed case of priceless books of prophecy from the debris of a bombed out church, acting as though it were nothing of consequence. And it wasn’t really, to him at least, but he had known how much they meant to Aziraphale.  
How curious, that a being of supposed sin and damnation could be capable of such care, affection and… something else, it was on the tip of his tongue. L- 

“Lift home?”

Ah, he could feel something in the air, a familiar pull in his chest rising to meet it, tormenting him once again. There was a ringing in his ears which he was quite certain wasn’t from the explosion, and a taut, heated ache within, hollow as though a piece of him were missing… Oh dear.

Love.

It had been love the whole time, he couldn’t deny himself after that. He loved him.  
Stood in the rain, the first rains, under waterlogged wings he had loved him.  
Bold and defiant at the end of the world he had loved him. 

He had been quite distraught with this knowledge at first, but he had come to accept it, quietly content to sate himself off of their frequent outings, the occasional accidental brush of contact, the way he’d catch Crowley smirking over his drink, watching him behind those damned4 sunglasses from the corner of his vision whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

But now, this situation worried him beyond measure, despite any insecurities he may have about himself Aziraphale liked his body, you could say he’s become rather attached to it. It might be full-framed and a tad worn in places but it’s warm, and comfortable, and indisputably him. He took pride in that,5 and yet, he couldn’t help but be afraid of what Crowley would think of him.

“Do speak up dear boy, I’ve heard it all before I’m sure.” He said, resting a protective hand lightly over his stomach. Against all attempts to maintain some sense of composure, they were in vain, his expression betraying him, eyes cast downward, brows drawn together and a small, sad smile gracing his face. A look that physically pained Crowley.

He pulls his shirt back over him covering his shoulders, buttoning up once more, “I- Oh dear, why are you welling up? Is it really that awfu- Oomph!”  
Cut off by the impact of the demon jolting forward into him with arms outstretched, he lurches backwards to compensate for the sudden weight, collapsing further onto the settee, lower back now pressed against the armrest.  
Limbs coiled themselves around his plump middle, curves giving way to angles, Crowley’s head now buried into the crook of his neck. Any tighter would surely cause discorporation. His own hands hover above the fiend’s back unsure of what to do. (Knowing fully well what they’d like to do.)

“Crowley! What on Earth are you-”

“Angel, you’re perfect.”  
…

“Please, don’t tease Crowley.” 

“Not teasing, never. Well, not never, y’know, not- not about thisss.”

“I- I rather think the drink has its hold over you my friend. Now, this really is quite unnecessary, if you could just… let go of me,” ‘Before I do something I’ll regret.’ “Your mind isn’t entirely your own and you’re being overly dramatic.”

‘Friend.’ The word made his chest clench reflexively.  
Dramatic? Of course he’s being dramatic. He’s a demon, practically in the job description is being dramatic, all candles and cloaks. He has a certain level of reputation to maintain, thank you very much. “And? Doesn’t matter if I am. Wouldn’t lie to you, couldn’t if I tried.” Visions of a park assaulted the forefront of his thoughts, of ducks, a note, and an argument, 

‘I don’t need you.’

Once. He had lied to him once.

The memory is somewhat sobering, inducing a playback of his action in the last few minutes, realising himself he sits up, reluctantly pulling away.

\---

“Sorry, Angel. Didn’t meant to… intrude. Personal space, right?”

Aziraphale couldn’t refrain from staring, lingering on those wine-stained lips, at that crooked smile so sad and sincere, senses engulfed and enraptured by the hot breath they emanated, smelling of the drink they had been imbibing. It was all so overwhelming, the thought of how close they were, how easy it would be to-

“Wait…” 

Before he knew it, a demon’s wrist was caught in his grip. Crowley froze in place, wide-eyed, like a panicked child caught doing some mischievous act. (…Which would be good, or bad rather, since he’s a demon.)

Aziraphale won the internal battle to tear his sight away, only to make the mistake of getting lost in alluring horizon eyes, they had a sheen to them, betraying raw emotion, traitorous unarmoured oculars brimming with adoration and worship, “Sorry, I just- Please…” he came to his senses, loosening his grasp, hand recoiling only to be captured and held in return.

Hearing the inconclusive request snaps Crowley out of his stupor. The free hand still poised in position over the wide curve of his side falters slightly, “Okay, S’okay.” A thumb dances over the angel’s knuckles while a single eyebrow arches in a wordless question.

Tentatively, Aziraphale nods.

Long, slim fingers start to lightly trace the branching creeks that interrupted the breadth of soft, plush skin, he tried to suppress his slight shiver at the contact, “Oh Angel, how could anyone think of you as anything but beautiful?” 

Aziraphale could feel tears form at the corners of his own eyes now, “I- It’s terribly kind of you to say dear, but I’m completely aware that I’m… well, these things aside I’ve hardly an ideal appearance, especially by today’s standards. I certainly doubt that you- that anyone would find someone like this… like me…” He trailed off, not entirely sure of what he’d intended to say. And then slowly, so slowly he dared to rest his cheek against Crowley’s, (Whom temporarily forgot to breathe) the fiery locks tickling his skin. He released an exasperated sigh, “And you, you’re so…”

“Stop that.” Crowley, sulphurous eyes burning with determination, released his iron-grip momentarily, one arm drifting upwards to cradle the angel’s pale, round, slightly damp face in his hand, “Aziraphale, look at me. You’re so... I have never, in six thousand years found anything, anyone that even comes close to comparison. Never mind what’s on the outside, we’ll come back to that when you’re ready, but there’s so much more to a person, more to you. You are so clever, and kind, and strong, and- and an utter bastard, and you are far too good for anyone willing to say otherwise and you, you-” Pausing only to draw in a shaky breath, he lays a gentle palm on the angel’s chest for emphasis, “-are perfect.” 

Lips parted slightly for a small breathless gasp to escape them.  
“Oh, Crowley.” Exhaling a half-cough half-choked chuckle, his pallor flooding with a vivid shade of crimson. He had said the name before, so many times now and in so many ways; with frustration, glee, grief, but this felt different, it carried a certain weight to it; the weight of years, centuries, millennia of denial and devotion.  
And with that, Aziraphale surrendered. This was a battle he could never win, one against himself, what remained of carefully built defences crumbled, walls of his own creation torn down and lay in ruins around him, after all this time he’s done fighting. You could say it was ineffable.

Arms, with a mind of their own, fall and clamp around the demon with heavenly strength, returning the embrace. Unable to hold back relentless tears, streams from the heavens, droplets of coalesced starlight finding their home dispersed in the inky dark sky of Crowley’s jacket, “I- It's not easy for me to say this, all things considered but... well, we've been together- ah, around each other for quite some time now and I've developed certain, well, you should know that I… Crowley?” 

He’d fallen asleep in his arms.

Mouth forming a thin, stern line, brows furrowed. “Y-You bugger.”  
Letting out a sigh, equal parts frustration and relief, his mind begins to wander, ‘For someone’s sake, that was close. I’ve been a bloody fool, had Crowley truly meant all that? Stop that, of course he did, why would he lie to you?... But he’s intoxicated, I couldn’t possibly take advantage of that.’ He lets his head fall backwards in defeat, ‘What in Hev- Hel- argh, what would happen in the morning? Will he reel away? Can we carry on as normal and pretend this never happened?’ He dares not move, lest he rouse the resting recreant.  
A veil of panic shadows him as he racks his brain for answers he doesn’t have, “What do I do?” A hushed inquiry, unsure if he was addressing the ceiling or… beyond.  
Neither of which responded, but then again She wasn’t all that talkative these days.

He wasn’t left alone with his thoughts for long before solemn mutterings caught his attention.

“Can’t… find…”

“Ah, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Killed… best friend.”

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

“AZIRAPHALE!” The form jolts up with a start, pupils darting wildly around the room, lungs gasping for air he doesn’t need.

“Dear, everything’s okay, you’re fine. I’m here. Look.” Burly arms pulled him into an embrace. The weight, pressure, keeping the demon secure and grounded, “Hush now, it’s safe, we’re safe.”

“Why- No, still, still dreaming, must be. Please don’t leave me. I can’t do it alone, I-” 

“Sshhh, no one is going anywhere. I promise you.”

Crowley trembled and sobbed into his shoulder, Aziraphale couldn’t bear to see him in this state, burdened by the knowledge that he was the cause. He wouldn't wish this upon his worst enemy.6

Fingers found themselves carding through bonfire hair, the motions coming almost instinctively. If it had been any other situation he would surely be cursing himself for this act of over-familiarity but… this was not the time to worry over unspoken boundaries, he needs him.  
“Won’t…” His burst of adrenaline starts to recede, settling down once more, “Won’t lose y-”

“I’ve got you dear. Rest.” It was more of a command than a suggestion, the word coated with a hint of Grace.  
He begins to hum an ancient tune, the melody a memory long passed. It’s low and comforting. The notes unnatural, belonging only in the Ether, but they exist once more, in this place, this time, for Crowley.

‘What do I do? ...Care for him, that’s what. Whether as a friend or as more, in time. That has never, and will never change.’

Aziraphale cautiously slid himself, and by extension Crowley, downward, nuzzling further into the sofa and shimmying in an attempt to get comfortable.  
It was going to be a long night. But here, with only his books, the wine and moon to witness, he concludes the song as he plants a small kiss on the dozing demon’s forehead; a deceptively easy action. 

“I love you.”

\--+--

Sunlight painted the walls of the room illuminating particles that gently float in the air.  
Crowley stirred. Hang on, this wasn’t the silk swathed sheets of his bed. The covers too cosy, too snug and… moving?  
Tilting his head upwards to see the tender face above him, brows painted with worry marks, undereye shadowy. Like a marble bust carved with careworn creases.  
It hadn’t been a part of his dream.

Aziraphale, whom he was sprawled across with limbs splayed about the place haphazardly like ivy on an oak tree, was sound asleep, proffering as an impromptu mattress and, more to his surprise, with one heavy arm draped over him, safe, protected and warm.  
It wasn’t like him to sleep; angels aren't supposed to, they should have constant vigilance over Her domain, besides, he much preferred to spend the time doing something productive. Seemingly the events of the night before had taken it out of them both.  
How long had he lain there watching over him? Always the lightening rod to his raging storm. 

His face was perched in a nest of golden downy curls, feeling the way Aziraphale’s still exposed expanse of padded chest rose and fell underneath him, he hoped this would last for forever. But surely the angel would arise soon, pushing him away and making all sorts of excuses.  
How many times had he imagined a scenario like this? Although admittedly only a few had involved a settee and, in one fond recollection, a chaise lounge. Did he own a bed? Surely, he must have somewhere to rest at least. He knew of the elusive upstairs flat, a façade of residency mainly used for storage no doubt. Would they lay there together one day? A four-poster tartan nightmare, curled up with an age-stained novel and cooling cocoa, Crowley constricting him with cuddles.  
Ow, he shuffled slightly, he could feel the indentation of a button on his cheek.

His fantasies would have to wait. The angel was awakening, stretching with an aggrieved grunt. There was a ghost of warmth in the space his arm had occupied on Crowley’s back, struck with an icy chill as it faded. 

His eyes fluttering slightly before opening, giving a half-lidded gaze through light lashes that go wide at the sight of his surroundings, “Ah right, yes… Good morning.”

“Mm, mornin’.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah.” He replied without hesitation, it had been the best he’d slept since… Well, since. “Should I… get off of you now?”

Aziraphale on the other hand had taken his time to answer, “If you’d like, probably for the best.”  
‘I may never let you go.’

“Angel, can I- I mean, would you if mind we stayed like this just a little bit longer?”  
‘Let me worship you.’

Whatever shock he may have portrayed melted into a radiant beaming smile, “Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale thought for a moment, “I know you’re a snake Crowley, but I never had you pegged as a boa constrictor.” He had hoped the quip would alleviate some of the underlying tension, alas Crowley made no witty comebacks, no noise of acknowledgment, no attempt to respond at all, instead staying completely still and silent.  
It was a good ten minutes before anxiety crept and settled in his bones, Aziraphale’s natural inclination to ramble under pressure began to kick in, “It’s a shame we can’t stay here all day, if I’m perfectly honest. I’ll uh, have to open the shop soon, tidy up here and there.7 Perhaps, if you’re free later we could-”

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“I adore you Angel, I can say that now, can’t I? I always have been. I tried; I really did. To match your pace, not go too fast. Don’t look at me like that. I thought I had all of time to wait until one day I didn’t, I never told you and then suddenly…”  
‘You were gone.’  
He shudders at the thought, “But I have the chance now and I need to tell you what you mean to me, that I can’t stand to have you out of sight, that I would do anything for you, I want to be there to remind you how amazing you are, want to wake up like this every morning-”

“Not every morning I should hope, I don’t think my back would take to it.”

“Heh, no, not like… Aziraphale I lo- I, I- Argh.”  
‘I love you, so sodding much. You are my everything, you are the sun in the centre of my solar system, that my world revolves around, that it can’t thrive without.’

“It’s alright Crowley, you don’t need to say it.” 

“Please, let me finish, I- 

“I love you too.”

“What?”

He found himself being dragged back in the angel’s embrace with divine force. There was strength carried behind the softness, he had been a guardian once after all.

“I love you, you silly serpent. And I’d spend the rest of eternity by your side, if you’ll have me.”

“… Say it again.”

Aziraphale pulls Crowley even closer, if that were at all possible, “I love you, my darling dearest demon. I know it’s been difficult, I’ve been unfair and unkind to you, and I could never deserve your forgiveness. You’ve been so, so patient with me, I can only hope I can help heal the scars I’ve left you.”

“My Angel…”

“Yes, now and forever.”

“I was always yours.”

Aziraphale sniffles, “I know dear, I know.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“Ha! Let’s hope not… then again, if you were, I could do this with no repercussions,” He takes the demon’s face in one hand, the other resting on his thigh, “May I kiss you Crowley?”

‘Now who’s going too fast?’ Is what he would have said if his tongue hadn’t turned traitor, “You were never that polite in my dreams.”

“Oh? And what’s your answer?”

“Ngk, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want.” Spoken with all the casualness of someone who hasn’t been picturing this moment for 6000 years.

“Mm, it’s nice to know our age hasn’t dulled your charisma, my dear.”

“Ssshut up.” It was Crowley’s turn to make the next move, lacing their free hands together he leans in. 

Once they got past an initial calamitic clash of noses, “Ow, you tilt this way, I’ll go that way.” It was a chaste brush of lips, simple and sweet. Contrary to what Aziraphale had read a hundred times over, there were no raging flames of passion, no grandiose display of fireworks, time didn’t stand still, (Although Crowley had considered it) if anything it seemed to all rush by far too quickly. But there was a short exchange of breath, notes of honey on fresh bread, entwined with ash and cinders. A taste they would both savour for quite some time. 

“Are you alright, dear?” 

“Jusst... sssswell.” the serpent slurred, “Definitely dreaming… you bastard.” 

"Thank you.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Quite right, I should hope not.”

\---

“Now then, come on, up you get.” He said, patting him on the knee. Crowley complied, unwillingly untangling himself from the other.

“If we’re going to do this, we’ll do it properly! I have standards, and as such I expect to be courted… we have a lot to catch up on. Coffee would be a good start I’d say, how about that little café down the road, the one with those delightful pastries?”

Crowley stared blankly at him, squinting into a question, “Did you just… ask me out on a date, Angel?”

“Why yes, darling I rather think I did.” Chuckling with that wonderfully ridiculous wiggle of self-satisfaction.

Still bleary with sleep, he stared drowsily at Aziraphale, now smoothing out his attire trying to make himself look presentable, the creases in his shirt disappearing underhand. Mystified at the sure and swift movements of each button slipping effortlessly into place without a moment’s thought, certain and precise as they'd done it a thousand times before,8 he noticed,

“Oh, Aziraphale, I’m so sorry.”

“Hm, whatever for?” He followed Crowley’s eyeline, drawn to the frankly impressive puddle he’d made with his tears during the night, “Ah… not to worry, it’s easily fixed.” He snapped, reverting the cloth to its original state.

“B- but you’ll know the stain was-”

“Maybe I’d like to remember.”

There was a pause before Aziraphale began pottering about the tomb of tomes, “Setting things right.” He’d said, disposing of the empty bottles and rearranging cushions, keeping himself busy while Crowley searched for his glasses, eventually finding them tossed aside on a stack of books.

“I told you they were right there.”

“I couldn’t see them.”

“Then you weren’t looking properly were you?”

The demon's eyes swept across the cleared room, “So fussy.”

He started fiddling with his hands, “Well, it’s done now, and I’d rather we didn’t return to a mess, I-”

“Calm down, I wasn’t judging you, my perfect, soft, fussy Angel.”

“You know Crowley… it doesn’t feel real to have this, us, all ousted in the course of a single evening. I was half expecting a grand tale of forlorn lovers cursed by miscommunication that extends over several days or even months, dare I say years, before reaching a satisfying conclusion.”

“Pfft, you’ve been reading too many stories Angel. I mean, it’s already taken us this long and an Apocalypse to get here.”

“Mm, perhaps you’re right, it does sounds like a rather lot of effort.”

Aziraphale offered his arm, which Crowley coiled around in kind, 

“Ready?”

“Never.”

“Together then?”

“Together.”

This is going to take some getting used to, but they have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 See Sandalphon’s Teeth or the gold leaf on Uriel’s face for example.  
> 2 The streetlights in front of the bookshop had always been faulty, no number of technicians could find the source of this, as they seemed to be in perfect working order. The proprietor never seemed to mind, “Garishly bright things anyway.” He had said when questioned.  
> 3 In spite of having experienced so many different time periods, each with their own contradictory customs on modesty, the opportunities to see so much of him had been few and far between.  
> 4 Pun very much intended.  
> 5 Perhaps a poor choice of phrasing considering connotation but there we are.  
> 6 Which he was technically.  
> 7 When in reference to the bookshop the word, ‘tidy’ is not one easily conjured. The cluttered space was never tidy, nor clean and certainly not neat, but it is ordered. There is a certain way about it, stacks of papers, accumulated knick-knacks and everything in-between, all with a particular place where they felt right. And despite the shop’s age it, and its contents, remain practically pristine, untouched by time; cobwebs cowered, and dust didn’t dare. Woe to the unwary customer that dares to upset this delicate eco-system.  
> 8 Far more in fact: Let’s see, obviously lacking precise dates but the Victorian era started in 1837 (-2020) so that’s 183 years ago X 365 days = 67,525. Presumably he’d change around twice a day, month long reading sessions omitted, so times that by 2 = 135,069. Approximately, give or take a few thousand.
> 
> \---
> 
> There we have it, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and if you didn’t then please do tell me how I can improve. :)  
> I’d very much like to continue this eventually, although I imagine that wouldn’t be for some time yet, as it took me long enough to write this one, haha.


End file.
